


A White Lie

by Kit_SummerIsle



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bad Sex, M/M, Pre-War, young mech
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:33:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_SummerIsle/pseuds/Kit_SummerIsle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ironhide has a strange offer from a Seeker. He accepts. This is something they both regret later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A White Lie

**Author's Note:**

> The story started out as a rare pairing challenge, Ironhide/Thundercracker in a school/academy setting. It never got completed and I have about abandoned the half done fic when I read ladydragon76’s Honourable Hostage and in it it is mentioned that Ironhide had an erroneous belief about Seekers, stemming from an interface in his youth when he couldn’t satisfy his partner, a Seeker, who told him that Seekers cannot overload unless the whole trine is present. It reminded me of my old fic and reignited the will to finish it. I ended up mostly rewriting the fic and deleting most the Academy parts, which in retrospect were fairly bad anyway, only incorporating some parts of it into the main scene for background. The interface part was written like it is now, I only finished the end with that bit about how TC tries to explain to Ironhide why he didn’t overload.

A blue Seekerling and a red mechling stood facing on one of the Vos Academy dorm building’s corridor. The latter was standing in his door gripping the doorframe, like he was expecting an attack, while the former cast uneasy glances up and down the corridor, like he was uncomfortable in the grounders’ area. Which he was. It wasn’t uncommon to be the victim of a prank, as Thundercracker knew very well. But he had to come as the exchange students would go to their respective homes in a few orns and he had a debt…

“Look, I’m just… offering.” – The blue wings flickered up and down.

“Ya don’t have ta.”

“But I… I think I want to. You helped me out.”

“Ah didna help ya for a ‘face.” – Ironhide was stiff and uneasy now that he realized what was offered and why.

“Neither did I. But… I thought you’d be interested.” – two blue wings flared in a blatant invitation, but the intended recipient never got the message. It was… polite to offer, nearly required by Seeker honour, even if the grounder didn’t know that it was so.

“Ah might be.” – blue optics darkened a shade at the idea – “But not as… payment.”

“Is not. I want it too.” – not fully, but that was beside the point. He’d wanted it enough.

“So far as it’s not… well. Okay. Come in then.”

Ironhide shifted from one pede to the other and awkwardly motioned the Seeker into his room in a bit late realisation that the conversation should not have taken place on the corridor. Even though it was late in the dark cycle, there might be some others around hearing it. He had some… nosy classmates who wouldn’t miss the chance to tease him with a flier offering in his doorway.

The Seekerling was visibly nervous and uneasy, this much he could tell even just from the faceplates. The wings… well, he couldn’t tell what those were doing or rather why. Since he was in Vos, as an exchange student in their fragging excuse for a War Academy, Ironhide saw many wings… too many in his opinion, and they all looked the same to him. Except the colours of course. This pair was mostly blue and red with a small design worked into it – kinda interesting-looking and flashy, like all of them fliers - but it didn’t help him to decipher what their movements meant.

The Seeker was taller than him and it put Ironhide on the edge, but he was heavier and much better at ground fighting, so it was still kinda okay. Not that he wanted to fight right now of course, but it was automatic to measure them up. The Seeker… this Seeker was one he was most comfortable with, since they helped out each other in the aerial simulation room where Ironhide was out of his depth and the training one where the Seeker needed coaching. An uneasy and interest-driven relationship for sure, but still one he definitely did not have with any of the other Seekers, nor did he want to. 

Ironhide hated being in Vos. Mostly it was the insane architecture tailored to fliers and the attitude that went with it, even though they weren’t in power any more and their city was slowly but surely converted to grounders; but in a not very small part it was the Seekers themselves. Noisy, high-strung, possessing a superiority complex that was completely unfounded in Ironhide’s opinion and making an abominable racket all the time that he simply abhorred.

Seekers were almost never quiet and calm. They could be tagged, controlled, watched, disciplined, grounded – but they never stopped their clicking-chirping, vaguely songlike and completely indecipherable language that was always accompanied by the constant hushing of wings, clacking of those unnatural thruster heels and always discernibly loud in-, and exventing. Ironhide hated all these strange noises and constant movements after the first few orns he had to spend in Vos. Thundercracker in contrast was… bearable, he supposed. Quiet, compared to his frame-kin.

It was the first thing he noticed about the dark blue flier, and what made him accept the first, tentative help he would never ask, even though his knowledge of aerial strategy was virtually and practically nil and he was nearly sure to fail that class. But he was polite and focused only on the simulation, displaying rare perfectionism from a flier and Ironhide could accept that. He was practically compelled to repay him somehow in return and to help him out of the prank planned by his fellow students was a perfect opportunity. Even if it made the Seeker think that he somehow had to repay the help.

“Well, sit then.” – he wasn’t the best in social situations, even with his fellow students in the Iacon Academy, Ironhide knew. He much preferred honesty and straightforwardness to polite formality and if anyone called it rude, then it was empathically their problem. Especially the fragging Seekers, looking down on grounders like they were somehow… better. Which they were not.

“Wanna have a cube? High grade.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like to.”

The Seeker shifted slightly as they sat stiffly on the berth – the small student room giving them no other opportunity that sitting side by side on the berth. Ironhide noticed the red optics measuring up the berth and the unhappy scowl – of course it wasn’t a wide one, he didn’t fragging need a berth for Seeker wingspans. So far.

They drank in silence. Ironhide knew that partly he accepted the Seeker’s help in the first place, because he was much quieter than the rest of his kind. That had to be the main reason because he sure didn’t envy them for their lightweight frame like most grounders he knew, nor did he admire them in any way. Wings. Frankly, they seemed more trouble than worth. They emptied the courage-enhancing cubes in silence before looking at each other again…

“So… “

“Umm.”

It helped a little that the Seeker seemed nearly as clueless and nervous as Ironhide felt. Not that he was an untouched, no. It just… never seemed as important as for most of his friends and he never been with a flier, much less a Seeker one. But then they had a reputation of being interface-crazy… and he did come to Ironhide, right? But still he should nail down some ground rules.

“Ah’m not gonna let you spike meh.”

The Seeker looked back to him strangely, like bemused but inwardly shrugging off the queerness of the grounder.

“I came here… you decide.”

“Good.”

“In that case…”

The slightly lifted brow-plate looked awaiting, almost inviting and Ironhide stood, facing the Seeker sitting on his berth. He wasn’t sure though how to start. Push him backwards? Might look aggressive. Straddle those legs… he’d probably dent his plating just with his weight. Kiss him? No, he didn’t feel like kissing a near stranger for starters.

Fortunately the Seeker got bored by his hesitation and the gray servos with those vicious-looking claws gripped him and Ironhide had to repress an automatic flinch. Then he was pulled closer, over the winged frame which wriggled up, backwards on the padding. It saved him any further commiseration and Ironhide followed him onto the berth and put a servo on the warm, blue armour and felt the other’s systems working behind it. Such slagging thin plating…

The biting, sucking, all so sudden kiss was unexpected and almost frightening as he felt the touch of those sharp fangs on his glossa. Ironhide was sure that his growl conveyed his dislike, because the other withdrew a little, only letting their lipplates touch slightly and the brow plates rose slightly questioningly. He never liked kissing mechs with fangs. Denta was all right, smaller mouths like femmes were all right, but the Seeker didn’t qualify on either count.

So he withdrew with another growl and ignored the disappointment in those red optics. Trying to make up for it and not particularly wanting to explain, he sought out some spots that could make the other’s charge rise. His own was coming along nicely… but the Seeker’s frame was completely different from what he was used to… no wheels, no headlights, not even a fragging windshield-wiper… lots of smooth, warm metallic plate, the seams so fragging tiny cracks that his blunt digits could not get into them… how the frag was he supposed to arouse him then?

-o-o-o-

Thundercracker pulled the hesitant grounder over himself and tried to act like he was sure of what he was doing. He wasn’t but he’d not reveal that. The red frame was stiff over him and his attempt to kiss was only greeted by a growl and pulling away. What the frag…? Then he felt servos all over, pawing at him like he was looking for his keycard on a table and Thundercracker’s optics opened wide at the decidedly inexpert touches. He’d expected a little bit more of the grounder… apparently wrongly.

He was fumbling. Primus below, the blunt digits were fumbling futilely by his panel and not finding the catch. Thundercracker wasn’t sure if he wanted to curse or help him, to laugh or push him away. He didn’t like the kiss, he didn’t like the touch, he wasn’t doing anything helpful or nice on his own… but the red mech wasn’t a virgin, Thundercracker was sure of it. Not much experience maybe, but that was true to himself as well and he could still find some hotspots on the red, blocky frame.

The grounder’s vents spat hot, crude-smelling air onto his face and his own hasn’t even ramped up from normal ventilation. Thundercracker reset his olfactory sensors because the oily smell was irritating on several different levels. For one, it should have been changed ages ago. Why groundpounders thought that maintenance was to be forgotten until their crankshafts seized up? Because they didn’t fall from the sky if the lack of maintenance caused an error in their systems?

That must be it. Even the vents had a slight clatter in their noise now that he was hot… decidedly hotter than Thundercracker who still had not been aroused in the slightest. He had to run into the only grounder on Cybertron not possessing a wing-kink, he thought frustrated after trying to push his wings into the fumbling servos with no success. His wings fell back to the berth unsatisfied, the aileron flapping once disappointed, then drooping sadly…

Great, he thought ironically. The red mechling was trying, true, but failing to find any hotspots on the jet’s not so little frame where others found dozens. And no, he wasn’t going to pop his landing gear because the red mech wanted to have wheels to grope. He was quite seriously afraid that those strong servos would crush the small wheels, he experienced the mech’s grip in the training room many times.

He tried to remember why he agreed, even suggested this… this… it hardly even deserved the classification as interface. Was he this thankful for the fragging grounder to teach him servo to servo fighting, something that would give him an edge among the Seekers, usually so lost on the ground and make good use of his slightly larger frame? Was he this grateful to be rescued from what would have been a humiliating prank? He had to be, unless he wouldn’t be here, squirming underneath Ironhide’s bulk. And he was kinda interested in the solid, forceful frame of the grounder. Past tense, he grimaced. He wasn’t any more.

The weight was distributed all wrong, squashing his legs while pushing them apart. Ironhide was not that much smaller but a lot heavier than he looked and he seemed to be aroused far more than Thundercracker. But for Primus’s sake could he not find a simple interface panel’s catch? The blue Seeker squirmed, rubbing his wings on the berth to get a little friction at least, freed his left arm and grabbed the red servo, placing it on the small latch until he finally managed to pry it open.

Idly, he wondered if the mech could find his valve on his own or required help in that too. Wriggling slightly to have some sensation himself too, the Seeker bucked up his hips slightly. 

“Oww…!”

It was a bad idea. Ironhide slid off him to the side and a small protrusion on his hip snagged across the still closed spike panel’s upper edge. It wasn’t the least arousing, it was simply stingingly painful and very much awkward. They both groped for balance for a few kliks before finding their position again.

“S-sorry…” – the red mech panted that smell on him still – “Ah didna expect you ta… move.”

“I just… nevermind….”

“Yo’re not… don’tcha like it?”

Did he like what? Thundercracker almost asked back. Did he do anything to be liked? But it would be rude. It was a groundpounder, not familiar with flier frames. He shouldn’t expect him to be an expert. He should give him some more time to lose his awkwardness.

“Could use a bit more stimulation.”

Again, he tried to wiggle the wings but to no avail. Slag. He really didn’t get the hints, did he? One hesitant red servo pawed his pectoral vent and finally it felt something like arousal tickling in his sensors as the blunt digits curled in. So different from sharp talons he was used to and stimulating differently – but at least doing something after so much fumbling. 

“Yes… there!”

The molesting wasn’t anything sophisticated but it was at least in a good place. Thundercracker tried to encourage the red mech for more when suddenly a sharp pain deleted all progress in his arousal and he yelped loudly.

“Slag!”

Primus help him, the glitch has landed with his ELBOW on his fragging WING!

“Get off my wing!”

“Sorry-sorry… Ah thought…”

“It hurts! Geroff!”

“But Ah just wanted ta…”

“The edges, not the fragging seam! And! Not! Falling on it!”

“Okay, okay… Ah guess Ah’m heavy?”

“And your elbow joint has something unwelcome sharp.”

“Uhh… yeah, tha cannon mount.”

“Just… be careful?”

Thundercracker was about to give up the whole effort as a lost cause when at last he felt the grounder right himself, straddle his thighs again and lo and behold! A digit was circling his valve boldening at the warming metal and the first drop of lubricant. To his greatest surprise it was nice and finally something good he could feel. 

“More like it…” – he murmured, almost moaning as the digit’s movement became sure and the digit smeared over the lubricant that oozed from his valve. High time. The previous, sharp pain from his wing was fading nicely too and Thundercracker dared to hope that despite of the bad start, he could still enjoy this thing. He should have known better than expect everything to go right at once.

All too soon the grounder shifted upwards, leaning on Thundercracker’s hip heavily and he felt the blunt tip of a spike bumping into his array, most definitely not where his valve was. The Seeker tried to wriggle a bit, to help him target it, but it seemed that the more he couldn’t push in, the more embarrassed he became and the less able to concentrate. Of course it showed on his spike too and Thundercracker’s helm thudded back to the berth padding. It was quickly becoming worse and worse…

He reached out with a long arm and grabbed the half-limp spike despite of the protest, scratching on a headlight with the other. It seemed he’d have to do most of the work here… 

“Hey, what are ya…?”

“Slag you, have you ever… ohh, forget it.”

He curled his digits around the dark, burnished grey appendage and yanked on it, despite of the embarrassed protests growling from the grounder until it pressurized again and without much ado guided it to his valve. He seriously hoped that the mech could take it over from there…

Finally, the spike was thrust into his valve nearly halfway, abrading a little because of insufficient lubrication, but at least stimulating the nodes near his entrance. 

“Yesss…” – Thundercracker moaned, only half faking it and held Ironhide close with both arms. It was something and maybe the encouragement would embolden the grounder…

It did and an enthusiastic, but basically clueless thrusting started, accomplished more out of force than skill. Thundercracker tried to surreptitiously guide the angle of the thrusts and roll into them but he wasn’t a pleasurebot either and correcting an eager beginner just wasn’t in his expertise. It only hurt a little when the angle was way wrong or the spike popped out and he had to fumble again to guide it back to the valve – in general it was just… lacklustre. His helm thudded again on the padding, shuttered his optics and wryly he thought of Vos…

At this rate it might take a decaorn to gather enough charge for an overload. 

Not for the grounder, apparently – he seemed to enjoy it eventually far more than Thundercracker. After he’d passed over his initial embarrassment and found the willing, more or less wet valve, he was apparently feeling quite all right for all his inexpert thrusting. The vents still spat that oily smell at him, only it became hotter and hotter by the breem and the strong grip of the warrior mechling tightened too till the point of nearly hurting.

Thundercracker remembered a technique that helped with a fellow Seeker in a similar situation and tried to hook his legs behind the red mech’s aft, to try and deepen the still only halfway thrusts and establish something of a synchrony between their movements. But it only worked for a little while, until Ironhide grabbed the thruster - Thundercracker actually yelped in his pained surprise – and bent his leg up to his shoulder, thereby nailing the blue flier firmly down with his weight in a very-very awkward posture. 

“W-what in the… ouch… nether Pit…!”

He achieved a little more penetration which, Thundercracker supposed was good, but at the cost of a quickly starting to burn hip joint that loudly protested at the position it was forced to. With deepening dread, the blue flier realized that the grounder didn’t intentionally thrust shallow so far, but packed a far smaller spike than he’d expected from his own meager experience with other Seekers. The bent position allowed the red mechling to penetrate his valve a little more than halfway up and he shouldn’t expect the ceiling node knocked on any time soon, no matter the position. 

Thundercracker groaned, turned it into a moan and started to think his recent interface with Spearwing to lose himself into the mood a bit more. Deciding that the grounder would not even notice it, his left servo, the one not on the other mech fondled his own cockpit, dipping under the steelglass, among the sensitive instruments and helping his charge along in any way he could. 

But that Pit-slagged smell wasn’t helping, the panting of the grounder and the disappointingly weak thrusts in his valve were dissipating more charge than he gathered. And Ironhide was nearing his climax, the even more erratic and fumbling thrusts proved it and Thundercracker just knew that he wouldn’t, couldn’t overload this way. Not any time soon. But he wasn’t quite feeling up to faking an overload, he was just frustrated enough and inexperienced so that it wasn’t an option.

“More, fraggitall, more…!”

And Ironhide tried, he actually did, but the mood was gone, Thundercracker’s arousal was dying a cold death in shame and disappointment… but he at least wanted the red mechling to get off. So he faked moaning a little, tightened his valve the best he could and was rewarded by the sorriest, most embarrassing overload ever taking place in him; the spike shot its hot load into him, Ironhide roared and all but collapsed onto him strutlessly.

“Ooomphh…” – slagger was heavy. And smelly. Condensation dripped on him beside the transfluid and Thundercracker suddenly wanted to get out. Now. Right in this nanoklik. He wriggled and pushed, claws slightly scratching into painfully sensitive seams until the grounder growled again and slowly, ponderously rolled off of him, snagging his wing just slightly in the movement.

“I gotta hurry before curfew…” – it wasn't true of course but he didn't care any more.

Thundercracker closed his panel and was out of the room before Ironhide could recover enough to sit and say a word. He saw the drawn brow-plates and saw the indignant flash in the blue optics before he left and didn’t want an awkward conversation on the topic. He avoided the grounders’ areas for the next few orns until the exchange group was safely gone back to Iacon and he could be sure to never see the mech again. 

In time he would discover the datapad among his own, seemingly accidentally mixed to his baggage. It was a medical-looking text file on Seeker interfacing habits, the best imitation Thundercracker was able to manage on their jargon. It was vague and lacking sources, but it implied strongly how nearly impossible it was for Seekers to overload without a full Trine being present for the interface.

It was a lie, but it was such a little, white one, it’d never have any consequences ever.


End file.
